It was an odd feeling. Looking at a family. He'd been away from his own family for so long that he felt like he'd never had one. Now look at him, alone, dirty, addicted, wandering the streets without a cent to his name. How could he even try? It was so close. He looked at his wallet. No money. No credit cards. No business cards. Just photo, wrinkly and turned over, of the family, the life he once had. As he looked at the family in central park, it almost made his heart yearn. He wanted to turn over the picture so badly. But he knew that if he did, it would send him to a new stage. He didn't know if the stage would be better or worse than the one he was in, but he had to try. He reached his calloused dirty fingers into his wallet and lifted out the picture. As he lifted it and turned it over, two one dollar bills fell out. He looked down at the money. He'd forgot he'd had it. It'd been placed there for emergencies. He'd put it there knowing he'd never want to look behind the picture of the life he'd left behind. He looked at the picture once more, and at the family in the park, so happy and carefree. Then he looked down the street. A bus. The public bus was on it's way. As he stood there, looking at the picture of his family, his old life, he turned it over and dropped it.
Then he bodly stepped onto the bus.